Death's Reunion Still Comes Sweet
by mackdizzy
Summary: I have no idea what I'm doing. Have some ridiculous pale fluff that's ridiculous and stupid. I might leave it at this or update later, who knows.
The first thing you notice about wherever you are is that it is WHITE.

WHITE WHITE WHITE.

The sheer _brightness_ of it all makes you squint. You're so used to pitch darkness, living with your ears and most of all your mind, that a sudden onslaught of bright on your aching eyes hurts you _T_ head.

It's also cold in here. Again, a sharp contrast to the drowsy heat you're used to-like that tired feeling you get when you've been in the shower too long. It's not a bad cold, though. Though you're not freezing in here, It reminds you of always being freezing in life, before everything went downhill, and anything that reminds you of life is a good thing.

You feel your own shaky breath in your chest-odd, how dead people can still be breathing-and it takes you a moment to adjust. Odd to hear yourself breathing again. The beeping in the background is comforting, now _there's_ a sound you're used to, but it sounds so faint and muddled that you think you might be imagining it.

You put a hand to your chest to feel it rising-surely this can't be more than a really, really, pleasant dream.

And then you notice the wires sticking out of your arm, and dream spirals to nightmare.

The smell kicks in. You forgot to take note getting used to using your eyes again, but its very strong, the smell of sterile equipment and chemicals- _a laboratory._ They're going to stick more wires in you, and poke and prod you and "check your vitals" and then they're going to drag you away again.

Around this point, your instinct usually takes over your logic. You throw yourself from the bed and scream.

Only half of your said endeavor is successful, however. When you try to throw yourself from the bed, there's a flaring pain in your entire body, and when you try to scream, there's one in your throat.

The pain in your body causing you to collapse face-first onto the bed, and you scramble to grab the blankets up again. You're not in the mood for looking at yourself right now. The pain in your throat doesn't faze you, however. You keep screaming until someone comes in, and though for a second you're relieved, you remind yourself that he's here to _hurt you._ One Angled optic blast should be enough to vaporize him, then you'll be in the clear-for now, at least.

But when you try, the pain behind your skull-almost as bad as when you tried to use your powers to escape on the ship-causes you to hold your head and cry out in pain.

He's leaning over you now, so you use your arms-your arms still work, thank god, though you're still getting used to how they feel-to punch at him madly. You hit him in the face pretty hard- _good, I hope it leaves a nasty bruise-_ but when the blood-rush actually starts to rise to the skin, you stop your attacks.

There is a _bright red_ mark on the troll's face, and as your vision comes back into focus, you choke back a sob.

Your moirail has his arms around you, he's shooshing you, and here comes the floodgates, you're sobbing your eyes out onto his shoulder. He rocks you back and forth, slowly, before easing you back down on the bed and perching himself on the end of it.

You try to talk to him, you try to _apologize,_ but your vocal cords don't work right, and all you do is let out a jumbled mixture of words.

" _'orry'orry'orry'orry'orry'orry'ignle'Ikill'you'orry"_

Great. More speech problems to contend with. Fun.

He smooths your hair down and _laughs,_ your moirail is _laughing_ and for a moment everything is perfect because _he isnt mad at you._

Then again, why would he be? He is far too perfect for that.

"Hospital." He says slowly, gesturing around the two of you. Normally, after an overwork, you'd roll your eyes and scoff at this treatment- _"I'm not a wriggler, Psii,"_ You'd insist, but right now,you totally appreciate the effort. You nod your head to show you understand, But suddenly you don't you're confused. Why would a _hospital_ take on the pleas of a mutant and the queen's ex-pet?

He looks at you, and the realization dawns. _Of course._ The Empress more than _liked_ you-she _enamored_ you. Any highblood in their right mind running a hospital wasn't going to turn down someone who's hurt if that person happens to be the one and only true merit of the Empress's affections.

It almost makes you want to gag, but they saved your life-er, your death-nonetheless, and you can't help but be grateful she liked you so much, if only here and now, and only for this purpose. That's more of his dumb positive sermons rubbing off on you, you're sure, but you don't mind.

Wait. Your moirail is still talking. You remind yourself to listen.

"Rosa and Dissy are at home." He says, and when you raise your eyebrows, he smiles. "Yes, we have a real home now. The four of us can be happy, like we used to."

He takes your hands in his own, and noticing the burn marks on his wrists makes you want to cry. _You_ did this to him. You take his hands in your own and stroke them since you can't talk, but he needs to know what you're thinking.

Your moirail shakes his head and lifts your chin up. "Don't worry about that. Everything's going to be alright, Psii, you'll see."

After all this time, He still does not blame you for his death. You can't tell whether you're relieved or annoyed at his sheer perfection.

"Get some rest, Psii." He says, a smile easing across his lips. "I'll be here when you awaken."


End file.
